


Fairy Tale (5)

by Pandora



Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 08:53:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4298490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandora/pseuds/Pandora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daintier! Smarter! Better Dressed!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fairy Tale (5)

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written in 2001, and tarted up for a online challenge in 2010. The summary comes from Rasputina's song "AntiqueHighHeelRedDollShoes."

When the curtains open, the room has  
been turned into a stage. The ceiling is a  
huge, cleaned white sky, and the air  
glitters with snowdust. It smells like cleaning  
spray and rose white powder. And (I   
saw it, and so I had to believe it) there  
are trees, starved thin trees with round, silk  
green leaves, all around the room  
and growing from the floor, the   
sleek floor the servants washed and  
polished into a mirror gloss. Their   
reflections twitch inside the   
mirrored wall. I haven't seen you  
yet, but I will, and soon, inevitably  
enough. I know that, though I  
don't know (if I can look at you  
and smile, a slight fan shaking  
smile that doesn't even mean  
what it seems to) if I  
want to. You won't know that. You won't  
find a cat growl between my legs.

I walk through the room, and through the shiver-  
whisper from the trees and their leaves. The  
curtains are furrywarm and

sleep dark. You won't believe I was   
here before anything could see me, but it  
will still be true.

\--

(They have been saying, in whispered  
giggles, for days: The prince is back from his  
tour. Yes it's quite true. He looks well, and he's  
brought this _adorable_ pet sandcat. I just saw him.)

\--

You have just come into the ball-  
room and the pulse throbbing music with  
your friend. You're wearing a bloody-red  
silk dress (that you found in the back of  
another best friend's closet) without  
a bra and smeared black lipstick. You  
didn't shave your legs. Your friend has brown  
hair and a dull complexion and watches  
you when you hahaha. Your skin is  
still flushed from the heat glowering just  
outside. You pause to toss a smacked  
kiss at someone you  
haven't seen for a while, at a girl  
you knew in a class last year, and even--though  
it shouldn't be possible--at me.

Oh yes (I would tell you if you could  
hear me) you really did just say that and it was--

\--

You're sitting, in a bored slump, next to your  
mother, the queen, up on the floating cloud  
dias. Yes, you do look better than I remember  
you were. You wear a dark suit, with lace cuffs, and  
you smile before you sip at your wine. The  
music changes, and you watch as a  
line of girls in matching white  
muslin dresses come out to dance. I  
move through the crowd, between the ladies'  
swollen skirts, and: Now, I can  
see your skin under your flour-white  
powder. Your mouth is flushed, and you're  
wearing a plain silver ring. I have to  
step away (and the air is suddenly too warm  
to breathe, and I can feel people  
see me, in my new, black silk frock, the  
latest fashion). It's the ring I gave you.

I gave it to you the day, the morning, you  
left for your tour _in faraway lands_.

\--

But you're not so shameless as you  
look out at the big, sleek dance floor and  
the people there. Your eyes are full of  
swollen black pupil, and I can't know  
what you see. Your friend is sullen over  
her bright silky drink, and you  
shift your hips. Your nipples (I can  
see now) are thorn-sharp against your bodice. Your  
mouth is clean again. And I would  
have walked past you, another person  
in the loud, racing dark. I would have, but  
that was when you looked over and saw me:

\--

You look over at the mirror and see me inside it.

\--

Perhaps we find a hidden room in  
the back and when we kiss, when you pull  
me to you by my hair, your cock pushes against  
your dress, and against me. Your hair  
will fall into my face, and I'll pull your  
skirt up as I squeeze your ass, as I feel  
your dainty, cold hands on me. You'll say (before  
you sink onto your knees and kiss my stomach, where  
it is swollen and plump just above the  
waistband of my trousers) _I've meant to talk  
to you but I've just been so busy_.

\--

I wore a night-dark, night-black dress  
to the ball, a frock a heroine might wear during  
her death scene, and yes, _the latest thing_. My  
hair was full of glittersnow when I saw it  
inside the mirror, and I held, I clenched, my dance  
card with several hopeful, hopeless names  
waiting on it. I wore black trousers, the same  
ones I always wore, and a tighttight black  
shirt, and lavender-purple nail polish. I did that  
right before I left for the bus, and the ball.

\--

You look over and see me inside the mirror, and (yes,  
I have to believe it) your mouth twitches. You  
smile and my heart, or my cunt, clenches. I know  
what happened before, not so long ago. But I wonder,  
in this one endless moment, what will happen next.


End file.
